


Staying Present

by Princess of Geeks (Princess)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Time, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-19
Updated: 2010-03-19
Packaged: 2017-10-08 03:16:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess/pseuds/Princess%20of%20Geeks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic spans the entire run of the show. Buddy fucking leads to commitment. Slowly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Staying Present

Jim's insults about Sandburg's taste in baseball teams had soon turned into action. He fired all the throw-pillows within reach at his jeering friend, and followed that with a dive and a tug of war over the last pillow. Very undignified, what relief and three beers and the aftermath of a Twins victory did to a person.

Jim had to resort to tickling to get the last pillow away from Sandburg, who lost his balance and fell off the couch, holding tight to the prize, and Jim found himself enjoying the warmth of the other man's heaving skin and his choppy, breathy laughter. Jim's fingers lingered in the casual gap between Sandburg's shirt and his jeans.

"Cut it out, man; cut it out," Sandburg insisted, happy and breathless, and Jim kept prodding at his ribs while he made his final grab for the pillow. He snatched it away and thumped Sandburg on the head with it, sending him sprawling flat on the rug by the television, still laughing.

"Victory is mine," Jim proclaimed, thumping Sandburg again, then holding the pillow high over his own head, in case Sandburg had any ideas about getting it back. But his new partner settled for flipping him off and just lay there, getting his breath, smiling.

Sandburg smoothed his hair out of his eyes, but that didn't stop his restless hands. Jim could hear his heart change beat as Sandburg pulled his gaze from Jim's -- was that a blush? -- and then locked eyes with him again. Of a sudden, Jim smelled him -- a new chemical blooming in the happy, popcorn-tasting sweat. Something warm and joyous, but with a dark, sharp bottom note, like exotic perfume. Jim must have let his reaction to what he was scenting show in his face, because Sandburg reached out and put a hand on Jim's knee, and his smile broadened, became more than a little feral. He licked his lips.

"If I'm not out of line, here, do you ever --" he began.

But Jim cut him off, suddenly brutally sure of what he saw in Sandburg's eyes and tasted in his sweat. "You're into the no-strings buddy-fucking thing; is that what you're saying, Chief?"

Jim saw the jolt that the casual obscenity sent through Sandburg, and it seemed to course through the other man and straight to Jim's cock. Jim shifted his legs, suddenly uncomfortably hard, and then went ahead and adjusted himself through his jeans, blatant. He was surprised at himself, but he couldn't look away from Sandburg's fast-heating gaze.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying, if it's not out of line. I've been wondering about you." Sandburg had gone very still, but his hand tightened on Jim's knee, and the bulge in his jeans spoke for him.

"I wondered about you, too," Jim said, leaning in, and Sandburg was straining up and it was a warm kiss. Warm and strong and satisfying.

It had been a long time since Jim had had the pleasure of the taste of a man; a long dry time, because it was not and had not ever been a wise thing to be gay or even vaguely bi if you're a policeman in Cascade, Washington. So the shock of doing that again, of feeling warm living lips plus stubble, of kissing someone who pushed back, who wasn't yielding and soft, was almost frightening. But they were home; it was just them, and Sandburg was already on the inside of Jim's biggest secret, so what was this, what was one more thing.

And also today they were safe, dammit; Jim had earned this. He was still pleasantly in the glow of saving the day and retrieving Kincaid, and Sandburg, after all, had been crucial to that, central, important. He'd had a pleasant evening with Carolyn the night before, but she had put a stop to any further kissing. And today he'd invited Blair over for dinner and the game and to talk, he supposed, about Sentinel stuff, but then this. The kiss was turning out to be so very much more important than talking.

Jim leaned in further, urging Sandburg to lie back again, then slid down to lie against him and dig fingers into those curls. He moved his mouth against Sandburg's and the slight stubble pleasantly sanded Jim's lips. He opened a little more, matching the intensity Jim was suggesting, and the kiss went all to softness and damp heat -- tongues and warm, wet lips. Sandburg's lips were... They were perfect. He was opening even more, and Jim jammed with his tongue, and Sandburg was pulling on Jim's shoulders, pulling himself in to press his crotch against Jim's thigh. He sucked, licking around Jim's tongue at the same time, and the ratcheting up of touch and taste and smell that that produced made Jim moan. He felt Sandburg smile, and the humorous thought that this would probably make the guy ask some hugely moment-destroying sentinel-related question made Jim smile and shove himself down a little harder. He brought more of his weight against Sandburg's torso and groin and Sandburg moaned. Jim felt himself flush, and rocked his hips a couple of times, reward. Sandburg's hand crept around his neck and pushed into his shirt collar. Serious, serious, satisfying making out, this. Jim wondered how far this would really go. The buddy-fucking jab had been exploratory. How far would Sandburg really take this tonight? _How far will I?_ Jim didn't have a clear answer.

This was the first real kissing he'd done since that weird night with Carolyn, right before Sandburg burst on the scene. The senses made it intense, yet now that he knew what was going on, he found it was much easier to just enjoy what was happening, and he found that by slowing down a bit and thinking a little, mentally detaching, he could stay on top of his sensations and not be totally swept away by Sandburg's mouth, straight into a zone. The prospect of what it would be like, what sex would be like now, was looking better and better. No need to wonder any more or stew about it. If Sandburg was on board for doing guys, and it certainly looked like he was, this was going to be a night to remember.

Jim breathed deeply and closed his eyes, stopped pushing and softened his mouth, and Sandburg, gratifyingly, immediately, took over the kiss, pushing his tongue into Jim's mouth and purring a little. The guy was pushy, downright abandoned. Taste of popcorn, and Tecate, and something more that was just Sandburg, a little like green apples, sweet and tart.

When Sandburg broke the kiss to pant, pulling his tongue back where it normally lived and turning his head, Jim found they were sprawled more or less on their sides, and he had a firm handful of warm denim-covered ass and was determinedly pressing Sandburg's hips into his own. Sandburg was enthusiastically pressing back. They smiled at each other.

Sandburg said, "So I guessed right," and he was breathless, eyes wide, mouth wet. He looked ravished already. He looked, actually, fucking beautiful.

"You guessed right. You a trained observer or something?"

Sandburg's bark of laughter made Jim grin, and he held on tighter and rolled. Now Sandburg was on top of him, humping him gleefully, and it was Jim's turn to groan and once again close his eyes. Jim spread his legs and got both hands on Sandburg's fine firm ass, thinking about coming.

Kissing again, blindsided and surprised, and it was good, good, the taste of Sandburg's mouth, something to help him delay the building wave of pleasure, of urgency, between his legs. Sandburg pushing, he was a pushy guy, tongue in all the right places in Jim's mouth, demanding with the hips, warm springy hardness in front. One of Sandburg's hands was petting his hair, palming the side of his head. The other one was pawing at Jim's jeans zipper. Christ, this was a good idea.

***

"So, ground rules," Sandburg said. Jim heard him as from a great distance, only aware, really, of the fact that there had been a removal of weight and heat. Sandburg's smell was still on him and around him. Jim opened his eyes. He was lying on his side where they had finished a few moments before, but Sandburg was over in the kitchen. Jim heard water running, smelled heat. Sandburg was washing his hands in the sink. Then he opened a drawer and wet down a clean dish towel. Jim drifted. He noticed rumpled discarded clothes around him, his and Sandburg's, a tangible aftermath to mark the glorious lethargy in his own body.

Now Sandburg's footsteps, his kneeling naked shape, three-dimensional outlines of beige and pink and white, the cloud of his hair. The rasp of the dish towel, warm on Jim's stomach. Crackle of half-dried semen, not unpleasant but yeah, good to tidy up. Jim stretched like an awakening cat, unwilling for alertness but happy to be under Sandburg's -- Blair's -- hands again.

He let focus return, watching with pleasure how Blair knelt, lithe, unconcerned, naked except for his necklace, as he finished washing off Jim's stomach. He refolded the dish towel and scrubbed at himself.

Jim answered, and it was hard to make the words come out through the lovely heaviness, "We need ground rules?"

"Yeah, I mean the basics... So, you know, what: We're not out. Right?"

"Right."

"And. This is just some great friendly buddy fucking, right?"

"Right." Jim's voice was more tentative this time. He was distracted by the way Blair's gorgeous, quizzical mouth formed the words "buddy fucking," but Jim felt there was something else to be said here. Sandburg shifted to cross legged, and finished scrubbing his own stomach. He folded the towel into a wad and put it on a corner of the carpet. He looked at the towel, not at Jim.

Jim said, "What with the ground rules. We keep it quiet, between us, do the right thing, what's the problem?"  
 "No problem." Sandburg paused, and then met Jim's eyes, surging forward to kiss him, to put a hand to his jaw. "No problem at all."

"All right then," Jim returned, covering Blair's hand with his own, giving as good as he got with the kiss. He rocked back and rose smoothly to his feet. "I've got stuff for linguini. Sound good?"

He didn't wait for Blair's assent, but snagged the damp towel and headed for the shower.

After that, Sandburg acquired a Barbary ape to go with his tame Sentinel, and then the drug lab explosion and Jim put up a token protest when Sandburg moved in, but they both knew the protesting wasn't anything they had to notice. Sandburg at the loft was just a good idea. Convenient.

Still, although the ground rules said nothing about exclusivity, and after all, he had let Sanchez get a little too close for comfort, it was a shock when he interrupted Blair with a conquest from school. He and the girl had been making out on the sofa, candles, wine, he supposed he was rude, but Jesus, the kid could have given him a heads up.

Yeah, he was supposed to be working late, but the stakeout had ended abruptly with the capture of the perp, and since it wasn't his case he had come on home. He was annoyed, and even a little hurt, because he'd been looking forward to maybe getting a little action from his roommate, since he had the unexpected free evening, but that was stupid, to be hurt. Hence, the lecture he gave Sandburg about detachment, about handling your emotions, about staying present -- no regrets, no plans, no expectations. Yeah, it was about police work. Jim supposed he needed to hear it, too. Just do whatever needed to be done in the moment. Sandburg was pretty good in the moment, Jim had to admit.

The guy had looked so sad and disappointed that Jim had shrugged off the competition and finished his beer while Blair drank some wine, and then he'd invited Blair upstairs for the first time. Sandburg was just so damn hard to resist, sitting there in his boxers, his shirt open, pheromones tumbling everywhere, mixed with the smell of the girl's skin and her perfume. The smell in the room was good -- warmth and anticipation and sex and male and female. Sandburg went down on him that night for the first time. Swallowed, too. Very thoughtful.

***

_This could work,_ Jim thought more than once over the next days and then months, as they wrestled and worked and joked and patched each other up after gunshots and affairs and truly bizarre Sentinel stuff and also a series of supremely shitty paybacks from Jim's past.

_This could work,_ Jim would think, _ Maybe. If..._ And then he would always shut himself down. Trying to plan for love, for commitment. What a mistake. Just enjoy whatever happened. Stay present.

 

***

 

Jim sat down quietly, gently, on the sofa next to Blair, who was staring into space, letting the mug of coffee in his hand get cold. It was almost dark; that big empty space after dinner and before bedtime, which Blair used to fill with dates with women, or with working on his laptop. But this week there had been nothing to fill that space, only the pathetic annoyance of television, which Blair rejected as often as not.

It had been a long, rather boring day of desk work, and after dinner Jim had thought fleetingly of going to the gym, as was his habit, but then he remembered with frustration that there was no point, with the stitches in his leg. Zoeller. Bastard. Hanging would have been too good for him. He'd had to watch, helpless and pissed off, as Blair moved all those fucking boxes from Rainier down to the basement. The guys had come and helped him a little, and Jim had found that making nice with them was almost as annoying as watching Blair make twenty trips instead of five would have been. It had not been a good week.

Brooding about how he couldn't go to the gym, he had wandered from the stairs to the kitchen, with Blair sitting there, thinking, or not thinking, who could tell. And so he sat down, Blair barely acknowledging his presence. Suddenly words, the intention behind the words, the utter reality of the words, welled up inside Jim.

He demanded, "Can we do this?"

"What?"

"This marriage, this commitment thing."

Blair's head snapped around. He sloshed his coffee. "What? Jesus!" He scrubbed at the coffee spill with his shirt tail. Jim just sat there and watched him, as still as Blair was frantic. Blair gave up on trying to rescue the couch cushion and his jeans, and ran his hand through his hair. He put the coffee cup on the floor with shaking hands.

Jim explained, diffidently, as if Blair should know all this already, "I mean, the excuse we had for you to ride with me is gone now, and I know you don't really want to be a cop."

"I don't? I -- hold on here, hold on hold on, rewind the tape. Can we do this marriage thing? Where the fuck did that come from?"

"Well you know. I couldn't give in to that plus have you in my hip pocket all the time for the sentinel stuff. I needed you too much as it was. But now?"

"You mean all this time you were thinking of me like that and you never fucking told me?" Blair was truly upset. He was disgruntled, definitely taking umbrage.

"Well, no." Jim spoke slowly, thoughtfully. It was amazing to him that this could feel like a foregone conclusion, and yet it wasn't. Blair's utter puzzlement and astonishment was proof of that. Jim tried to connect the dots. "I think it started to get clear to me after the Aaron Foster thing. That was pretty much the end of the repression. After that there was no way to keep ignoring the whole wolf and panther meeting in a flash of light, you know." Jim sketched one of Blair's vague gestures, two-handed.

Blair leaned back. His mouth worked for a while. Blair, speechless. Huh. "You've been considering this since then?"

"Well. The back up thing, the partner thing, the, ah, sex -- that's been very nice, you know."

Jim looked at him and thought that, for once, maybe he was getting ahead of himself and he should be waiting for Blair's explanation. Blair always had an explanation. Jim had come to rely on that.

Blair scrubbed his face. "Sure, sure, it's just, you know, this mess with the dissertation, and before that, how mad you got about chapter one, and of course the whole Alex thing; that whole thing about how you saved me, the animals, and everything, that all just, just got shoved right back under the carpet after Alex...." Blair stared at the living room rug as if it were the carpet in question, as if secrets with claws and sharp teeth would come bursting out from beneath it at any second. He scrubbed his face again, weary. "Man. Overload."

Jim put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry." He was sorry for so many things, but it would just make him feel stupid and childish to keep saying that over and over. He squeezed Blair's shoulder. Rather hard.    
Blair looked up at him. He let Jim pull him in, let Jim settle him against his shoulder. Blair leaned, sighed, and his arms crept around Jim's chest. The tiny beginnings of a smile moved his lips. "It's just a lot."

"Tell me about it," Jim agreed, petting Blair's hair. Blair snorted, a welcome hint of amusement.

"Yeah, you can count on that, huh. Me telling you."

Jim smiled, too, just feeling his partner's weight against him, warm and solid and real. He was stroking a little static electricity into Blair's hair, making it float up and tickle his jaw. They sat there in silence, Jim's hand on Blair's hair the only movement.

"So you really feel something like commitment. Like that," Blair said hesitantly.

"Well, yeah. I probably should have told you before this, but..." Jim made another vague gesture, but quickly returned to holding his partner close. With both hands.

Blair smiled. His arms tightened around Jim. "It's just.... I suck at relationships, you know."

"Sandburg, I don't know how to break this to you, but we're already more married than I was when I was married. If you hadn't noticed."

"Oh. Oh?"

"Yeah."

"Well, never having been married, I wouldn't exactly know, now, would I." Blair's hand was quietly petting a small area of Jim's lower back, feeling warmth through the thin cotton of his soft sweater.

"Well, I'm telling you, this is how it is. Except better."

Blair slowly sat up and, for the first time since he'd spilled his coffee, looked Jim in the eye. Jim looked pretty brave and calm, considering what was going on, but after all, he'd had months to figure out how he felt about this. Blair's thoughts on the matter, for years, had pretty much been confined to, _Don't go there; he'll kill you. Don't demand love; don't be greedy._ So it was taking a bit for him to catch up. But he was quick, Blair was, never let it be said that he wasn't. _Marriage. He said marriage, like his marriage, but better._ He squared his shoulders and licked his lips and leaned in and tilted his head up. Jim tilted down, and their lips connected -- dry warmth, firm softness. Warm, strong, lush, familiar. Blair whimpered a little, and Jim's hand cupped the back of Blair's head, firmly, pulling at the hair a little. The kiss got wetter and deeper, their mouths moving in greeting. Blair leaned back, flushed and starting to harden.

"Jesus, James."

Jim looked at him admiringly a minute. He took a breath, and traced Blair's familiar face with his eyes, just enjoying. It felt like a free space, a clearing. He raised a hand and stroked Blair's cheek, and Blair's eyes slid closed.

They sat there, entwined, just breathing, soaking in each other. Dusk was coming down, and Jim watched the soft shadows bloom out of the corners of the loft and spread into each other, boundaries dissolving. He thought about lighting a fire. He didn't want to get up. Blair was warm and lax against him.

More silence. Blair finally tensed and stirred, but only to wrap himself closer. Jim closed his eyes. The smells, the warmth, the press of Blair's body, were building and building for him. He was going to have to dial back smell and touch or pretty soon he was going to either zone, or push Blair down on the couch and get all over him. He breathed deeply, trying to clear his head. He kept holding on.

Blair tensed again, sat up straighter. Jim didn't let go until Blair turned and pressed his lips against Jim's neck and pulled away and stood up. It was colder than it should have been when Blair let go. He paced as he talked. He was finally gonna talk about it. Son of a bitch.

"The last few months I've just felt like I was fucking everything up. The closer I got to finishing the dissertation, the worse I felt. Which made no sense to me, because it was something I had wanted so much, something I had done that was original, that was unique, really a contribution. I really wasn't thinking at all about how I could pull it off and finish the degree without giving away your secret. I was so focused down in the details of the writing, the organizing, getting it on paper, trying to make sense of all the data I had, everything I knew about what role sentinels could play now in society. I got more and more worried, and the writing got harder and harder. I didn't know what was wrong." Blair turned to face him. "And then when mom brought Sid in. Well. You know. I didn't know what the fuck had happened. I didn't know what to do."

"I didn't know what to do either."

"And then it was all my fault Simon and Megan got shot --"   
"No, Blair." Jim's voice held utter certainty. His interruption wasn't angry, but it brooked no disagreement. "That one's on me. That was me, not you."

"Oh, come on, Jim." Blair was standing by the french doors, looking out, and he turned around and smiled, and it was like an arrow to Jim's heart, just like those myths of Cupid. "Didn't you just get through telling me we're married? Our karma is inextricably linked, man. Our animals -- merged --" a circular gesture, both hands, "-- in the otherworld. That's huge." He looked at Jim as if he'd been gone for years, was just returning, just able to see him again. Then he blew out his breath, making his cheeks puff, and turned to the windows. "So much. It's just so much."

Jim got up and went to him, put his hands on Blair's shoulders, and Blair leaned into him. Jim's arms went around him again.

"I want you to stay. Here. I want you to stay here with me. And you don't have to be a cop, you know."

"I know... I just... I knew years ago it wasn't about the research, or even the work. I knew it was all about the friendship. I even told you that at the time."

"Does your definition of friendship include all this?" Jim nudged his face aside, and Blair turned with it, until they were kissing again, standing in the dark apartment, kindling in the cold coming through the glass. It was a promise, a beginning, a seal.

"Yeah, yeah I think it does," Blair said, his lips against Jim's. He pulled back suddenly, face ablaze with happiness. "You know what Rumi said about this?"

Jim held him, their arms braced together. He tried not to grin. His face was sore from it already, and the evening was young. "No, Chief; who the hell is Rumi?"

"Persian Sufi poet. I can't believe you haven't run across Rumi, anyway, what he said was--"   
"You're going to quote Muslim Persian love poetry to me? When you're sober?"

"Shut up, man, just listen. It's fine. You'll get it; I promise." Blair got quiet, looked over Jim's shoulder, collected himself. Jim watched as Blair's eyes filled with tears, but his voice was steady. Jim felt a sympathetic lump rise in his throat, but he watched Blair, watched him smile and suck in a breath and recite:

"Same old slippers,   
Same old rice,   
Same old glimpse  
Of Paradise."

And Blair put his head against Jim's shoulder, and Jim, petting his back, feeling him try not to cry, said, "Okay. Okay."

end.


End file.
